“It’s no secret, I thought you knew”

I don’t know about you, but I have heard this phrase more than once in my life, and in my thirty seven years of existence, I have had to convince several people that despite men’s claims that they are so hot women want them despite the fact that they are married, I beg to differ.  Why?  If all men who cheat let it out upon their first interaction that they are happily married and are only interested in an affair, most women will not be interested.  Whether you agree or not, I hope you find my story entertaining and you contribute your piece to the discussion by leaving a comment.  Enjoy!

I walked through the door, my cousin Chichi right behind me. I knew I was overdressed for the BBQ party when I left Jay’s house. But this is Abuja where being overdressed always beats being under-dressed. I had on an overly short baby blue, black and gold chain Fendi dress with Python-skin gold Gucci sandals strapped around my ankles. My ears were adorned in a diamond stud and daring 24 karat gold loops that dropped to my shoulders.  The gold loops bombed its purpose of giving my outfit a casual twist. The black DVF evening shoulder bag with audacious gold lips that would cover the length of a Vogue magazine did the job.

   

I scanned the room. There were only about a dozen guys with a few chicks scattered around the long, narrow living room of the elaborate boys quarters.  We passed the main house on the short walk from the gate. Chichi met me as the taxi that brought me to Asokoro from APO drove off.   We stood out among all the babes in the room, so I figured since Chichi was hooked, the most eligible bachelor here was mine for the taking.

Unfortunately, the guys were non-lookers, even Tony, Chichi’s boyfriend. He resembled his guests.  Tony was short; I figure five feet six inches, with a little tummy spilling over. I didn’t think he had anything going for him except that he probably had a rich daddy.  I wondered why Chichi fell for him, and swiftly dismissed the thought.  She never had a stellar choice of boyfriends. 

I spotted LV man in a corner of the room and shook my head.  He was still wearing the LV shirt, LV belt, LV hat, and LV shoes that he had on, from our flight from Lagos where he had sat across the aisle from me in business class.  I almost laughed out loud when I saw him rolling along an LV carry on, with an LV messenger bag slinging from his shoulders.  I thought it was a bit much. You be the judge. 

Tony walked me around, introducing me as Chichi’s cousin to some of the guys. Mr. LV was Hafiz.

“I know you,” I said, when we were introduced. 

He looked at me funny, possibly because he didn’t recall who I was.

“You sat across the aisle from me on the Arik flight from Lagos rolling an LV bag and carrying an LV shoulder bag,” I said to him.

As he chuckled, my eyes moved on to the only cute guy in the room.  He was sitting, but I could see he was tall.  The white fitted shirt enhanced his lean, fit body.  He was spinning the music and Tony introduced him as Fares.  This fine man’s handsomeness made up for all the ugly guys in the room. That is until I spotted his ring finger, while we had a handshake and a half hug.

I took a seat with Chichi and settled in to enjoy the night.  I knew I wouldn’t find the evasive Mr. Right, nonetheless when in Abuja for two nights, I wasn’t denying myself some fun.

We partied till 1 am.  The crowd thinned down to five guys including Mr. LV, Tony, and Fares.  We decided to go to PLAY, a nightclub in Wuse II. The club was fun, a sexy mix of American and Nigerian hip-hop got Chichi and I dancing the night away as the guys drank. Fares joined me on the dance floor, when the DJ cranked Taio Cruz’s “Dynamite.”  We danced together the rest of the night.  He had rhythm.

“If only he was single,” I thought to myself.  We could have had fun together.  When the night was over, we headed back to Tony’s place.  It was 4:00am and I didn’t feel safe getting into a cab to go back to Jay’s house in APO.  I also did not look forward at the prospect of rousing Jay from sleep to open the door for me at that time of the night.  She was a married woman and in Abuja that means she shouldn’t have friends that stay out so late.

Back at Tony’s house, Tony and Chichi immediately bailed to the bedroom once we came in, leaving me in the living room with Fares. Yes, he came back with us.  He sat beside me, acting familiar and I noticed his wedding band was gone.  I busted out laughing. 

“What?” he asked. 

“Where is your wedding ring?” I countered.

He smiled making him even more handsome. Too bad there was nothing cute in the fact that if I had not noticed his wedding band earlier in the night, I may have been a victim of “It’s no secret, I thought you knew.” 

***

Fares happened to me five years ago…. There is more…..

In May, a friend introduced me to her younger brother who came to Houston for the Offshore Technology Conference (OTC.)   She is one of those Nigerians who likes to hook up single peeps. In one of her numerous, “You are a great girl, I wish I had someone to hook you up with” conversation she mentioned she would set me up with her brother, if he weren’t hooked. 

Subconsciously when this brother showed up wearing no wedding band, I thought ‘hooked’ meant he was in a serious relationship or perhaps engaged. The guy was unattractive, not slightly good looking, lived thousands of miles away in Nigeria, and although I have never been one to seriously look at a man’s wealth as an asset when it comes to falling for him, he was definitely below my minimum wealth standard, if I had one. 

I was uninterested. That did not stop Mr. Abe from coming on to me.  As per nice girl, I never came out to tell him off.

“Don’t you have a girlfriend?” I asked, when he requested to come to my place or take me out somewhere. 

“That is what I am trying to do, but you keep saying ‘no’ to me.”

I was a little confused with his response, but given my lack of interest, I did not pursue it.  I easily repelled his advances. 

Now in 2015, my year of rebuilding, I tried my hand at real estate. I planned on selling plots of land in Nigeria to people stateside.  That income-making option died in the research phase, when I found out, thanks to a great friend in Lagos and my uncle; that most plots acquired in Lagos do not come with Certificate of Occupancy.  Anyway that is a story for another day. 

It was during this research phase of my Lagos land agent hustle that I met Mr. Abe. Coincidentally, his main hustle in Lagos was Estate development, so we talked business a little. 

Mr. Abe left Houston for Nigeria shortly after OTC. We did not communicate much after that. He followed me up on the land hustle, but by this time I had moved on to another venture. It made no sense to sell my fellow Americans land in Lagos that has no real ownership documents, I love my freedom too much for that! 

Infrequently he resorted to the occasional ‘Hi’ on Whatsapp.  It was in one of these occasions, a few short weeks ago, that I seized the moment to tell him about my Sendoutcards business. I wanted partners to bring it into the Nigerian Market as I see an opportunity for Small business owners, especially our Make Up Artists and photographers to use it for customer appreciation and client retention. 

Next thing I know bros was telling me how his wife is into Forever products and how he will look into it and talk to her about the opportunity.  Once I wrapped up the business side of the discussion, I called him out on the fact that he had been trying to ‘hola’ at me since I met him in May. It was only in November I found out he has a wife.

“It’s no secret, I thought you knew,” he said. 

I wasn’t smiling when I told him that I did not know, that I literarily just found out from his utterance, and that I believe he purposely withheld the information because he knows very well that he has nothing to offer a girl like me.  Why would a girl who is not homeless and hungry want to date a married man with no money, not even good looks or high intelligence?  Maybe only on the off chance she needs some spare sperm for a child.

I don’t intend to throw stones at married men who cheat on their spouses.  I am no judge.  The other day I read a post in a Facebook group that incited lots of people who have sex with their boyfriends and girlfriends, whom they may not marry, to cast stones at prostitutes and ‘runs girls’.  Story for another day, but the moral of this blog post is: if you are going to cheat on your spouse with a girl, even if you are a woman going to cheat on your spouse with a boy, please be kind enough to let them know at the point of introduction. Not after you have spun your lyrics and won over their hearts or worse yet, after you have had your way with them.  Just my two cents…

Cheers!

Edited: A Man's Role

What’s a Cherry on Top of Nothing?

There were a few cars at Einstein Brothers Bagel’s parking lot. I drove in around one in the afternoon. It was Sunday and Houston had better options than a bagel shop for brunch.  Earlier I suggested AKA sushi, as I craved a little sushi. I figured I could order a mango mojito to guide me through this not-so-desirable meeting.

I sat in my car. It was better than sitting in an empty diner waiting for him.  I love my car, but I no longer spend as much time in it since I lost my job. So here I was, in my Mars red GLK with the air-conditioner on maximum to stave off the heat. Houston was as hot as freshly-served coffee. I listened to random popular music on radio, as I checked my Facebook and Twitter updates.

He pulled into the lot several minutes later and parked his white BMW beside me. Years ago when I knew him, he drove a white, old, yet shiny Nissan Maxima.  I suppose a BMW is a natural upgrade for a Maxima, just like a Lexus for a Toyota and an Acura for a Honda.  Back then I drove an old Honda CRV, which I turned in for a new CRV before the Mercedes.  There was no Acura in between. So maybe there is no natural order to these upgrades.  

Did he drive his BMW carefully now?  I remember he rode his Maxima like a horse.  He’d speed up, drive really close to a car in front of him, and then narrowly miss it as he changed lanes.   I suspect he did it to impress me.  I can’t believe I thought it was hot.  Darn 20s.

As he stepped out of his car, I couldn’t believe I had found his almost albino skin attractive. I must have or we wouldn’t be meeting up now almost 8 years later.  Some female got out of the passenger side.  Who brings a girlfriend to these types of meetings?  The things that women have to put up with in today’s dating scene.  I had once told myself I could never accompany a man like she did, but I remembered Carl and his kids' baseball games.  I quickly convinced myself my case was different.  He never had to interact with the ex and I was by his side all the time.  Surely this female will not be sitting in on our discussion.  I would not stand for it.  

I got out of my car slowly and made my way inside the shop.  Thank God I didn’t wear high heels that much anymore. I’d have hated tramping in heels after these two.  Anyway, I didn’t really care what the server behind the counter and the sole diner thought of my outfit.  I felt comfortable in my flats and my relaxed short black dress with long transparent sleeves. 

I met them at the counter. 

“Do you want anything?” he asked her.

“Just get you,” she responded, before walking off to inspect the offerings at the other end of the counter. 

“What do you want?” he asked, this time turning to me. 

“Nothing,” I responded.

He paid for his bagel and orange juice on a separate check, leaving her to pay for her own food. I bought my own orange juice, once I figured talking to him without something to hold was probably a bad idea.  She settled her check with a credit card from her no-name purse.

I would love to give you every juicy detail of this meeting, including the part where the server brought her meal to our table, how she awkwardly walked down to where we were to retrieve the sandwich and drink. But this is a blog post not a short story.

As we left the bagel shop, this guy who let his girlfriend pay for a lousy bagel that she ate alone while he talked to me for over an hour, made a show of holding car door open as she climbed in.  A few months ago, I met up with him in a much nicer restaurant where he bought me a fine lunch and held the restaurant door open for me.  Today, however, I drove my own car. I’d rather my man pay for my meal than hold the door open for me.  Was she one of those girls that liked to go Dutch? 

Do girls really like to pay their own way when out with a guy?  I posed this question to my Facebook friends and 17 out of 25 women would rather have a man pay for the meal when on a date than open the door.  Most women consider a guy paying for their meal, basic, and the latter a little extra or “cherry on the pie.” 

So the question is: what is a cherry on top of nothing?

A Single Mom’s Rant - Edited Version

A Single Mom’s Rant

Some days I wish I wasn’t born.  Or I wish I were born a man and not a woman.  Why do I have to bear the brunt of the hell that is earth?  Why did I birth children no man wanted? Why didn’t I abort them?

Judge me all you want. I don’t see you sending me money to feed them, cloth them, house them, educate them; You don’t buy them toys that make them happy, buy them shoes that make them happy, pay for activities that make them happy. Or get things to keep them healthy and safe. 

Yes, you, sitting as my judge. You don’t babysit while I get some rest.  You don’t reduce my never-ending agony. 

Yes, I hate being a woman. 

You say, “no one told her to spread her legs,” but you aren’t more pious than me.  My sin is having unprotected sex. Yet he also had unprotected sex. And still he doesn’t suffer as I do.  He doesn’t have to listen to the constant chatter of squabbling children who demand attention all the time. He doesn’t have to worry about detention, conduct grades, rent, unemployment, lack of medical insurance and how to keep up with the never-ending bills. 

I am tired.

Tired of having no help.

Tired of being a woman.

Tired of being a mom.

Tired of being alive.

Right now as I watch over a sick child by midnight, I pray I don’t need to make a midnight emergency room run and that I don’t endanger his life having him home.   I say my prayers, as I wash loads of laundry. The boys need clean basketball uniforms for an 8 a.m. game. I am calm. I accept my cross and remain full of gratefulness for all the great things going for me. Sometimes, however, I can’t help but rant, mostly to myself.  Then it sounds like what I decided put down on paper two days ago.

God created the world. He made man and then a woman as his helper. Why is it that lots of women now do the job men were created to do?  It feels like the only thing men want is the fun part of making a baby. As soon as you enlist them in the work part, like changing diapers, staying up late, doing homework, paying for school, food and other basic needs, you get called names. You are left to do everything by yourself.  Yea, some of them are OK going out making money. Just don’t tell them to pay spousal or child support to the women stuck at home? That’d be unfair.

I am a single mom. I have been so since my first son was born almost 12 years ago. I never knew how it felt to depend on someone else to think about what is best for the kids.  I drive myself crazy sometimes; as I obsess whether a decision I make is the right one. With no one to run it over, it is so much harder to do so. 

Some women do not start out as single moms and had some help, or maybe just an appearance of help and then for one reason or the other they end up a single mom.  There is another group of single moms: They are married, sometimes for real, in which case a man comes home to them every night. Or sometimes the marriage is just on paper, via phone or Skype, where their husbands come home less than an out-of-town boyfriends sees his girlfriend.

This last group is the reason I now believe that I suffer not as a single mom, but as a mother.  This group has me thanking God I am a SINGLE, single mom.  Unlike them, I don’t have an additional mouth to feed, clothe, and clean up after.  Indeed I thank God I have no other person to bounce off decisions on because it’s hard enough to give up retirement savings or LV purses for piano lessons without having someone else yell, “It’s a waste of money.”  I hope none of my married friends take offence.  I only speak out from my pain.

When stressed I’d say some really horrible things to my kids, like “I should just give you away”, or “You just hate me and want to kill me.”  Afterwards I felt like the worst mom on earth. That is, until I heard another mother use similar words.   Then I remember that growing up, my mom said some pretty cruel words to me. It is only now I realize how stressed she must have been.  And even then we had a nanny. 

I rarely have someone else who worries about the little things, like making sure uniforms are washed and ironed on time, and the home is clean so I can focus on meals, money and bills. While it may sound like male bashing, I assure you, I only ask for help. Guys could make life a little better for kids, themselves and everyone else, if they only assisted hapless moms.

I cannot conclude this post without giving the girls who are yet to be mothers some advice. This is what I wish my mom had told me when I was younger. A good friend of mine mentioned she had decided early on to date only men with money.  I wish I had met her years ago. Instead I grew up with girls who wanted to be engineers and doctors and be as rich as any guy.  Meanwhile my mom told me that I should never have a child and expect a man to take care of the child because “men don’t take care of children.”  I was so convinced I could and should make enough money to take care of my children. I therefore stayed away from rich guys.

My advice to girls is that they should be like my friend: Date ONLY men with money.  Because money is the only problem you can count on a man to solve for you as a mother.  He won’t solve your pregnancy problems, he won’t change enough diapers or clean up the house after the kids.  He may not even help with homework or teach the kid to swim or ride a bike. 

My friend employs a nanny, and yes, she is in America.  Her kids are in a good private school, which I couldn’t afford on my engineer’s salary. Best of all, I have never heard my friend say really mean things to her kids. 

So only date a guy with money, even if you plan to get a good education and get a cushy job.

***

For those of us who did not get this good advice and are super stressed, I would love to start a Single mom’s club.  A support group like the one the group of women on Tyler Perry’s movie “The Single’s Mom’s Club” formed.  Five or six women who come together regularly to support each other emotionally to find balance in this world where a woman who God created with the limited strength of a helper has to be in charge.